


Never Seem to Find the Time

by pantheon_of_discord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, no ragrets, sex and feelings, this started off a little flowery and poetic and then just got smuttier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantheon_of_discord/pseuds/pantheon_of_discord
Summary: They’ve been home for a few days, and despite his decision to cut the crap, and his assertion that life is too short, Dean has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do next. Apparently earth-shattering revelations on a routine salt-and-burn are not, in fact, cure-alls for a lifetime of emotional dysfunction. Go figure.





	

It’s in the middle of a perfectly ordinary ghost hunt when Dean officially decides to cut all the bullshit.

He’s sitting on a sofa in the home of their suspected spirit’s widower, sipping idly on a cup of weak coffee. Cas is beside him, talking gently to Cal Beauchamp, trying to find out where his late wife is buried, and Dean is busy staring at Castiel’s clasped hands; how his thumbs rub absently over each other as he nods along. He’s gotten good at this part, comforting the bereaved.

“It’s hard, you know. I keep thinking of all the things we never got to do,” the man is saying. “We were only married three years. We were starting to talk about kids. Now we’ll never. . .” he trails off, and Castiel offers a sad little smile.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Beauchamp.” He leans across the coffee table, handing Cal his card. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”

Beauchamp accepts the card, but seems to stare through it as Dean and Castiel rise to their feet. “There’s just never as much time as you think there is,” he says, and Dean is frozen in the act of putting on his coat, staring down at Beauchamp with his heart thudding in his throat. It all tumbles into place right there, in a stranger’s living room, with only a handful of words.

“Agent Gilmour?”

Dean blinks back over to Cas, who stands waiting at the front door with a furrowed brow. Dean clears his throat.

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Beauchamp,” he says, and follows Cas out the door.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks as they slide into the car.

_There’s just never as much time as you think there is._

“Yeah, fine, just spaced out a little. Sam get in touch yet?”

Castiel pulls out his phone and skims a text from Sam. “Yes, he’s done at the morgue, and says he’ll meet us back at the motel. We’re supposed to get dinner.”

 

***

 

Dean had always thought there’d be more fanfare at this moment. He’s always expected it to happen in the heat of some fight; maybe one of them was injured, or about to run headfirst into some stupid self-sacrifice, because let’s face it, Cas was a Winchester in every way but name, and it was anybody’s guess which of them would be the next to play the kamikaze card.

Instead, it’s in a moment of relative calm. Rebecca Beauchamp had gone without too much of a fight, although Sam had whacked his head on a tree and Cas had scraped up his shoulder when he’d had to dive out of the way of her flailing arms. One canister of salt and Dean’s dropped Zippo later and she had flamed out. They’d stumbled tiredly to the car, Sam downing several Aspirin and calling dibs on the first shower the moment they pulled into the motel parking lot.

Dean hears the shower start as Cas stands by his bed and eases his jacket down off his injured shoulder, grimacing slightly at the blood and dirt staining his shirt.

“Do you think I’ll need any antiseptic on this?” he asks, still looking ruefully at his shoulder. When Dean doesn’t respond, he glances up. “Dean?”

_There’s just never as much time as you think there is._

Dean gets up from where he’s leaning against the little kitchenette sink and walks the five steps across the room. Cas lets out another confused “Dean –” before Dean is there, one hand on Cas’ hip and the other at his jaw, pressing their lips firmly together.

Cas stills, and so Dean pulls back, just far enough to meet his eyes. Cas’ eyes are wide, surprised, but after a moment he places a tentative hand on Dean’s arm. Dean decides to take that as permission and leans in again, and this time Cas kisses him back, matching Dean’s movements and using his grip on Dean’s sleeve to reel him in closer. It’s a little fumbled, a little uncertain. It’s simultaneously the most and least remarkable kiss of Dean’s life.

Dean breaks away after a moment, drawing air into his starving lungs as he leans his forehead against Cas’. He feels Cas swallow.

“Why did you do that?” he asks.

“Because,” Dean starts, keeping their heads pressed together. “Because I was done pretending I didn’t want to. Because there’s never enough time.”

Cas tilts back slightly and looks at him searchingly, before squeezing Dean’s arm lightly. “I think I understand.”

Dean finally leans his head fully away, and smiles awkwardly. “Let’s, uh, let’s take a look at that shoulder.”

 

***

 

They’ve been home for a few days, and despite his decision to cut the crap, and his assertion that life is too short, Dean has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do next. Apparently earth-shattering revelations on a routine salt-and-burn are not, in fact, cure-alls for a lifetime of emotional dysfunction. Go figure.

Since they’ve been home, Dean has chickened out of every opportunity to be alone with Cas, either by using Sam as an increasingly irritated (though thankfully clueless) buffer, or by simply hiding in his room, trying to figure out where you go after finally kissing your former-angel best friend slash love of your life. Whatever revelation he’s waiting on, he’s at least certain that his hermit act isn’t the way to go.

Fortunately, Dean is saved from his floundering by Cas, who waits until Sam has left for a supply run and corners him in the bunker’s kitchen.

“You kissed me two days ago,” he says without preamble, and Dean pauses before setting down his paring knife and turning around.

“Hi, Cas,” he says pointedly.

“Were you planning on doing it again?”

“What, uh, kissing you?” Dean asks, cagey. Cas nods. “Um, I guess so.”

“But you haven’t,” Cas fixes him with a squint.

“Well, no, I guess not,” Dean replies. “Sorry?” he hazards.

Castiel purses his lips for a moment, clearly thinking. “Is it my turn?” he asks finally.

“Your –”

Dean is cut off by Castiel stepping right up into his space and fisting his hands in his hair, his mouth crashing down onto Dean’s with enough force to ram him backwards into the kitchen counter. Dean is frozen in shock for only a moment before his hands are at Cas’ waist, gripping tight and giving back as much as he gets. It’s rougher than last time, demanding, and Dean goes from zero to sixty in the time it takes Cas to press his hips all the way forward, pinning Dean to the counter. Dean lets out an involuntary groan at the contact, his cock stirring with interest and he tilts his own hips forward into Cas’. This draws a quiet gasp out of Cas, and Dean uses the opportunity to dart his tongue into his friend’s mouth in a brief exploration, before his need for oxygen becomes too much to ignore. He draws back a little and Cas takes a moment to suck on his lower lip before pulling fully away to stare dazedly into Dean’s face.

“I’ve been thinking about that for two days,” Cas pants out.

“Really,” Dean says roughly. “Because I’ve been thinking about that for like five years.”

Cas’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but before Dean can attempt to fumble past the blurted confession, the heavy cranking of the bunker door echoes down to the kitchen and Sam calls out a greeting. Dean grits his teeth at the interruption and turns back to his half-sliced mushrooms, while Cas pulls away to stand at a more appropriate distance.

Sam wanders in with his arms full of groceries, oblivious to the charged atmosphere as he starts stocking up the fridge. Cas helps him, but Dean stays facing the counter and intent on his mushrooms, willing his dick back under control. Cas eventually begs off to the library, and Dean lets out a slow breath.

“Dude, what’s with your hair?” Sam asks, eyeing the mess Cas’ fingers had made as he hands Dean a package of pasta noodles.

Dean flushes beet red and he hurriedly attempts to smooth down the top of his head. “You really wanna get into a messy hair conversation with me, Rapunzel?” He throws back, and Sam rolls his eyes.

 

***

 

It’s well past midnight, and Dean’s lying in bed wide awake, trying to work up the nerve to go knock on Cas’ door. They hadn’t really spoken again since the kitchen, and Cas had seemed pensive all through dinner before absconding to a corner of the library with Sam’s laptop.

He’s probably asleep by now, Dean reasons. Best to just try sometime tomorrow. He closes his eyes and manages to hold off for about a minute, before throwing back his blankets with a mumbled “Ah screw it,” and crossing to his door. He pulls it open and startles wildly when he finds Cas directly on the other side, dressed in pyjamas with his fist poised to knock and a deer-in-headlights look that is definitely not at all cute.

“Jeez, Cas, way to give me a coronary,” he grouses, hoping his feigned irritation masks the nerves that suddenly flare up in his stomach.  
“Sorry,” Cas says, his arm still frozen in mid air. “I was hoping we could talk. If it’s a good time.”

“Yeah, um, I was just coming to find you, actually,” Dean admits, and he steps back to give Cas room. “Come in.”

Finally lowering his arm, Cas crosses the threshold and closes the door behind him, and all of a sudden Dean feels very like a caged animal. He takes a few instinctual steps backwards, suddenly painfully aware he’s only in his t-shirt and boxers. He lets out a breath and attempts to tamp down his panic.

They’re standing on opposite sides of Dean’s room, staring at each other a little awkwardly for a moment before Cas bites the proverbial bullet.

“What you said earlier,” he begins, looking at Dean steadily. “About wanting to kiss me for five years,” Dean nods; his throat suddenly felt very dry. “Was that true?”

“Well, sort of,” Dean says. Cas raises one eyebrow in question, and Dean clears his throat. “I mean, it’s probably more than that. The five years thing, I was. . . estimating,” he finishes, and Cas’ eyes widen fractionally. Dean desperately tries to keep focus around the rushing sounds of his pulse pounding in his ears.

“You never said anything,” Cas says, and Dean is grateful there’s no accusation in his voice. On the contrary, it sounds like an affirmation, like he gets it.

“No, I didn’t,” Dean agrees.

Cas nods in understanding. “We’ve never had a moment, have we? There’s always been something. . . in the way.” He takes a step forward.

“Pretty much,” says Dean.

“But the other day, with that witness we were interviewing. . .” Cas prompts, taking another step closer to Dean. “You looked at me for a moment, and I thought, I thought maybe I saw something in your eyes.”

Dean sighs, shrugging his shoulders and looking down at the ground. “The way he was talking, about the things he and his wife never got to do. About how we don’t have the time we think we do. It just kind of hit me that I don’t ever want to feel regret like that again.”

“Again?”

“Like I did the last time you died. Or when Heaven had you all brainwashed and kill-crazy. Or when the Mark had _me_ all kill-crazy.” He sighs again. “Like you said, Cas, we’ve always had something in the way.”

Cas takes another step forward. “But there’s nothing in the way right now,” he points out.

Dean swallows when he notices that Cas is right up close again and pinning him with his gaze, his blue eyes considerably darker than normal. “No, there isn’t.”

Cas nods and inches forward again, his breath now ghosting over Dean’s lips. “Which is why you finally kissed me in the motel room.”

Dean licks his lips, and watches Cas zero in on the movement. He waits until Cas meets his eyes again, before breathing out a heated “Yeah.”

“I understand,” Cas says from scant inches away. Dean is holding his breath, waiting, trembling on the precipice. Ready to fall.

Cas inclines his head. “It’s your turn,” he whispers. And Dean is done.

Cas is pressed up against the back of the door in the span of a single breath, Dean holding him there with lips and hands and a thigh worked in between Cas’ legs. Cas’ hands have found his hair again, and Dean arches into the touch, gasping a little as Cas gives an experimental tug. Dean pulls his mouth away to start trailing a line of kisses down Cas’ throat, groaning softly as he feels Cas’ hard cock start to grind down against his thigh. Cas pulls Dean’s head up to meet his mouth again, his hands abandoning their work in his hair to creep under his t-shirt and up his chest. A thumb trails over Dean’s nipple and he hisses, biting a kiss into Cas’ lip in retaliation.

“God, Cas,” Dean breathes. His hands grip Cas’ waist and he starts rubbing his cock against Cas’ hipbone, the drag of thin cotton providing delicious friction. Cas is impatient though, and his hands come back to the hem of Dean’s shirt to pull it off. Dean pulls his arms free and chucks the shirt somewhere behind him, before reaching to Cas to return the favour. Then both their chests are bare, and Dean starts a detailed catalogue of the flat expanse of Cas’ chest, running his hands up and across and _God_ he can’t get enough. Dean leans down to press his lips to his collarbone, sucking along the ridge as Cas drags his hands down Dean’s back.

It’s not until Dean flicks a tongue over Cas’ nipple that he speaks, a breathy “ _Dean_ ” that Dean knows he’s going to replay in his head over and over until the day he dies. Dean moves his head back up to grin at him, before Cas’ hands move from behind Dean’s back to his shoulders and he starts to push them back towards the bed.

And _shit_ this is all moving so fast and Dean wonders if maybe they should try talking a bit more, but then one of Cas’ hands skates down from his shoulder to press firmly against the bulge tenting Dean’s boxers, and any thoughts he had about slowing this down fly fully and completely out the window. Cas is still trying to march them to the bed, and Dean gets with the program quickly, walking backwards as he starts to fumblingly push Cas’ sweatpants down his hips. The backs of his knees hit the bed and Dean scoots up, positioning himself on his back while Cas kicks the sweatpants off.

He’s stretched out on top of Dean again almost instantly, finding his lips and fucking his tongue into Dean’s mouth. He starts to roll his hips down, their cocks lining up perfectly through the layers and Dean lets out another groan. Cas is intoxicating; the feel of him driving Dean down into the mattress and the smooth slide of his tongue in Dean’s kiss-bitten mouth. Dean’s hands are running frantically down Cas’ back and it’s not nearly enough. He can’t do too much in this position, but before he can attempt to turn them over Cas’ rolling hips are shifting and there’s a hand pushing Dean’s boxers down, then back up to grip hotly around his cock.

“Holy _shit_ Cas,” Dean chokes out as Cas starts to stroke him up and down, his thumb running along the underside and stopping briefly on the upstroke to press hard under the head. Cas’s lips have moved to suck a mark at the base of Dean’s neck, and it’s all Dean can do to grip onto Cas’ bicep and hang on for dear life.

It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before Dean begins to feel his release coiling low in his belly, and he starts to call out a warning but then Cas is there, kissing him through it, his hand still working steadily as Dean spills up over his stomach, thighs shaking and chest heaving.

Dean whimpers into Cas’ mouth, and Cas finally releases Dean’s over-sensitized cock, pulling away to lock their eyes. Cas’ are blown wide and still full of tension, so Dean wastes no time in rolling them over, pushing his own boxers the rest of the way off before tugging Cas’ away as well. He swipes his hand through the mess on his own stomach and wraps it around Cas' length, sweat and come together slicking the way. Cas groans out his name, his eyes locked on his own cock sliding wetly in and out of Dean’s fist.

“Dean, _Dean_ ,” Cas breathes, a low whine starting from deep in his chest as he starts to fuck up into Dean’s hand, matching the rapid rhythm Dean’s set. He’s breathtaking like this, eyes hooded and a dark flush all down his neck and chest. He’s gripping one hand in Dean’s sheets so tightly it looks like they could rip, and the other is clamped vice-like on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean notices the moment his hips start to falter, his rhythm breaking and eyes starting to widen. Dean leans down to kiss him gently, tugging lightly at his lips. “I got you, Cas,” he whispers. “Let go.”

Dean watches as Cas arches his back beautifully, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth falling open on an almost silent gasp and he comes all over Dean’s hand. It’s the most incredible thing Dean’s ever seen, and he wants to watch it happen, wants to _make_ it happen every day for the rest of his life.

Cas comes down slowly, wave after wave of full-body shudders before he finally stills on the mattress, and Dean watches, enraptured. He pauses briefly to wipe his hand and stomach off with the corner of his sheet, before he flops down on his back beside Cas.

“That was. . . _good_ ,” Cas says, with just a touch of vehemence audible through his panted breaths.

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, y’know I’d actually upgrade that to _very good_.”

Castiel grins, and they lie in silence, but for heavy breathing and the rapid thumping of hearts slowing back to normal.

“No way have you only done that once.”

Cas heaves out a contented sigh, sated. “I may not have much practical experience, but I spent thousands of years watching humanity. I know the mechanics of sex, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me how much older than me you are. You know what you are? You’re a cradle-robber.”

“I have never robbed a cradle in my life, Dean,” Cas deadpans, before cracking a smile Dean can’t help but return.

There’s another silence, longer this time.

“Is it,” Cas pauses uncertainly, and he looks at Dean with something that might be an apology. “This is a little weird, right?”

“A little,” Dean allows. “I don’t. . . I don’t really know what I’m doing here. Never slept with my best friend before. Never had a best friend to sleep with.” He sighs. “I’m not good at this.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “I beg to differ.”

Dean laughs again, and Castiel grins back at him. “Not that, you dork. This –” he gestures between them, “ _This_ I am great at. It’s the next part, the whole morning-after, rest-of-our-lives crap that I have no clue how to do.”

Castiel shrugs, leaning back against the pillows to stare at the ceiling. “Well, you haven’t tried to stab me to death yet, so I’d say this is already going better than my last time.”

“Man, thank God the bar was set so low.” Dean grins and Castiel rolls his eyes. “Seriously though Cas, this is, this changes everything.”

Cas frowns, and turns onto his side, facing Dean. “I know it changes some things, but certainly not everything.”

“Are you kidding? This is huge Cas, or at least it is for me,” a creeping red flushes across Dean’s face and neck and he turns away. “What are we supposed to do tomorrow?”

Cas shrugs his shoulders again. “We wake up. You make us breakfast. We find a case, work it, kill the monster. And at night, I come to your bed. Or you come to mine.”

Dean drags a hand down his face, “It’s not that easy, Cas.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s never that easy. It doesn’t get to be that easy for us. Man, think about all the crap and all the damn years it took us to get here.” Dean props himself up on his elbows. “We’re not going to get an easy break; people like us never do. Cas, we could be dead in a week.”

“Yes,” Castiel nods. “We could. That’s the job – the job we both chose. You know that better than anyone.”

“Yeah and sometimes the job sucks, Cas –”

“And I’ve been a soldier for a few million years longer than you’ve been alive, Dean. You know I can handle myself.”

“Yeah yeah, Tough Guy, doesn’t mean you still can’t die. God, you’re human now, you _will_ die some day.”

“And so will you. Maybe even permanently,” he adds with a wry smile.

Dean’s face relaxes marginally, and he sinks back down to the pillows, chuckling lightly. “I told you Cas, I’m not good at this.”

Castiel reaches across the space between them to trail light fingertips across the top of Dean’s cheek. Dean closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “Dean, I don’t know what I’m doing either. And I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or next week. I don’t know what the next big disaster will be or what it will mean for us.” Dean opens his eyes, and Castiel holds his gaze. “I do know that I don’t regret this,” he adds quietly.

“God, Cas, I don’t either, that’s not what I meant.”

Castiel nods and gives a small smile. “I know.”

Dean rolls to his side to mirror Cas and stretches a hand out to grasp his hip, thumb running over the point of bone. “It’s not just that though, man. There’s about a thousand other ways I’ll screw this up. I’ll probably freak out every other week and try to push you –” Cas leans across and shuts him up with a kiss, his hand sliding from Dean’s cheek to cup the back of his head.

“I’ll get pissed at you for being reckless on a hunt,” he continues, when Cas breaks away for air.

“And I’ll do the same. So we’ll both spend a few days glaring at each other and stomping around the bunker, and no doubt making Sam want to pull all his hair out. And then we’ll figure it out.” Castiel pulls Dean in again for another firm press of lips, the hand on Dean’s head slowly running through his hair and pulling just a little.

Dean tilts away first this time, slightly dazed. “I’ll forget your birthday,” he blurts.

“I don’t have a birthday,” Cas points out.

“Yeah, well, we should get you one,” Dean mumbles, locking his eyes on Cas’ mouth. “We’ll pick a day, and I’ll make a cake and we’ll wear stupid hats.”

Castiel grins and inches closer, the hand on his head sliding down Dean’s back. Dean uses the grip on Cas’ hip to roll them down, so Cas is lying half on top of him. He tangles their legs together as Cas leans in to kiss him again.

“That sounds nice,” He whispers against Dean’s lips. Cas hand trails down across Dean’s ribs to his waist, and Dean chuckles.

“What?” Cas frowns. “Still weird?”

“I dunno,” Dean moves his free hand up to Castiel’s jaw. “Could be weirder.”

 

***

 

Dean wakes first, curled onto his side beneath his sheets with the long line of Cas’ body pressed warm against his back and across his waist. Somehow in the night they’d threaded their hands together, pressed against Dean’s stomach, and Dean takes half a moment to feel like a complete sap before deciding he really doesn’t care, and pulls Cas’ arm tighter around him. He grins when he feels Cas start to nuzzle into the space between his shoulder blades, his hair tickling up his neck.

“Mornin’, Cas,” he says, but he receives only a grunt in return.

Dean’s formulating ideas on how to wake Cas up _properly_ when he hears gargantuan footsteps in the hall that could only be Sam. He takes a second to be grateful he and Cas managed to burrow themselves under the covers before Sam swings the door open, his face in his tablet.

“Hey man, you up yet? It’s almost 9:30, and I think I’ve got us a ca –” he freezes, his eyes going comically wide as he takes in the sight of Cas, clearly naked, slowly rising up from where he’s wrapped around his also naked brother like an octopus, and squinting up at Sam in confusion. Dean looks over at Cas, and sees awareness clunk into his face. Cas swallows, before he turns to Dean awkwardly and waits for direction.

“Um,” Dean supplies.

Sam is now looking back and forth between the two of them, mouth slightly open. Words seem to have escaped him, and Dean doesn’t think he’s blinked in at least 20 seconds.

“This is,” Dean starts. “Yeah, you know what, this is _exactly_ what it looks like.”

Sam finally manages a strangled ‘guh’ sound, and Dean sighs. “We’ll be up in a minute.”

“Yeah. Right. Yeah, of course, um,” Sam’s blinking now, rapidly, as he fumbles his hand for the doorknob. “I’ll just be, um. Not here. Kitchen. Right. Yeah.” He pulls the door closed and Dean hears him hurrying back down the hall.

Cas, still blinking sleep from his eyes, squints thoughtfully at the closed door. “I’d say he took that rather well.”

Dean snorts and rolls so he’s facing Cas. “Yeah, this is hardly the worst thing he’s walked in on. Like, not even top ten.”

Cas gifts him with a sleepy smile, and Dean leans up to kiss him softly. “Mornin’” he says again.

Cas hums in response, then flops back down onto the bed, burying his head back into the pillows and reaching out his arms to curl around Dean.

“Whoa, c’mon lazy,” Dean chuckles as he tries to gently pull away. “You heard Sam; it’s late and we have a job.”

“9:30am is not late,” Cas grumbles, and he pulls the blankets back tight across his shoulders.

Dean laughs, and heaves himself off the bed to start searching around for his boxers and t-shirt. He slips them on, then shrugs into his robe, tying it before leaning down over Cas to press a kiss to his temple. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”

Cas heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

“Then we’ll take a shower.”

“. . . Fine.”

Dean grins, and leaves Cas to slowly adjust to the waking world. He closes the door quietly behind him and starts making his way down to the kitchen for the awkward ‘So Your Brother and Best Friend Are Sleeping Together’ conversation.

He thinks he should be a lot more freaked out than he is right now. It’s kind of freaking him out.

Sam is sitting at the kitchen table, with a full cup of coffee and a thousand-yard stare. When he notices Dean in the doorway, he jumps to his feet, like Dean’s just come in blasting the national anthem. Dean raises his eyebrows, and Sam sits down rather sheepishly.

“So,” Dean says.

Sam nods, eyes still a little wider than normal. “So, that was. . . unexpected.”

“That’ll teach ya not to knock,” Dean says good-naturedly.

Sam ignores this. “Guess you guys uh, had a lot to drink last night, huh?” he says around an awkward laugh.

Dean frowns and steps down into the kitchen fully. “No, Sammy. Not at all actually.”

“Oh. Um, okay.” Sam falters, swallowing. “So uh, how long have you two. . . I mean when did you. . . you know.”

“Use your big-boy words, Sammy.”

“‘Kay, I’m sorry, but look, you, you and Cas! Were in bed! Together and, y’know, naked!” He stands again, voice getting higher with every word. “You’re gonna have to give me a second here, ‘cause as far as I’m concerned this is way outta left field. I’d ask if you were whammied by something if I didn’t know for a fact we haven’t come across a witch in weeks.”

“I haven’t been whammied, Sam, Jeez!” Dean snipes, throwing on a glare.

Sam softens a little. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick. I just, you know, this is huge. This is Cas. And you, I,” he stutters nervously. “Jesus Dean, over thirty years and I didn’t even know you were into guys.”

Dean can feel heat flooding his face, and he casts his eyes away. “Yeah well,” he mutters, “How exactly do you imagine Dad would’ve reacted to that?” He glances back up, and is pleased to see that managed to shut Sam up a little.

There’s a long pause. “Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam says, and he looks contrite as he sits back down at the table.

Dean shrugs, and he makes his way to the coffeemaker to start a fresh pot. “It’s never been a big deal, really,” he deflects. “And it’s not,” he continues, keeping his back to his brother. “This thing with Cas, it’s not out of left field. Not even a little bit.”

Dean turns back around as the coffeemaker starts to gurgle. Sam is looking at him expectantly, and Dean crosses his arms and huffs out a sigh.

“You can’t really be this surprised. Me and Cas, we’ve been dancing around this for ages, _years_ , man. You’ve had to put up with me, with both of us, and all our telenovela crap. You had to have noticed.”

Sam frowns, puzzling it over. “I mean, I always knew there was something, I guess I just didn’t realize it was _this_ kind of something.”

Dean uncrosses his arms, shrugging. “Well, surprise Sammy. It’s _that_ kind of something.”

Sam laughs disbelievingly. “Yeah, I guess so.” He pauses, and when his eyes meet Dean’s again there’s pity in them. “Years?”

Dean sighs, tilts his head to the ceiling and closes his eyes. “Yeah, Sam. Years.”

“And you never. . .” Dean shakes his head. “So why now?”

“I dunno.” Dean drops his head and squeezes a hand over his temples. “Maybe ‘cause for the first time in like ever, there’s no apocalypse or Mark of Cain or bunch of douchey angels or anything to deal with. For the first time since we’ve known each other, it’s like we finally have a second to just. . . breathe. Plus,” he pauses, looks at Sam a little warily. “I’m tired of not being happy.” Sams eyes widen again, but Dean ploughs on. “I’m tired of shooting myself in the foot when it’s – he’s – right there in front of me.”

Sam nods once, slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dean repeats, looking up to meet his brother’s eyes.

“Yeah, Dean. Okay,” Sam leans his elbows onto the table. “I mean, are you happy? This is what you want?”

Dean swallows, and feels the blush creeping back into his face. “It’s what I want.”

Sam shrugs. “Then I guess that’s all I need to know.”

Dean nods and swallows again, “Thanks, Sammy,” he says a little thickly.

His coffee now cold, Sam stands and crosses to pour his cup down the sink. “Okay, ground rules though.”

“Oh come on, man,”

Sam puts up a finger. “No being gross in public spaces. Keep ANY noise in your rooms to a respectful level, or you are buying me the most expensive pair of noise-cancelling headphones I can find.”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“And if we are on a job and sharing a motel room, you will keep it PG at all times.”

“I’m leaving now,” Dean says, pouring out two cups of coffee and walking out of the kitchen, heading back to his room. Sam’s voice hollers after him through the hallway.

“FYI, the shower room counts as public space, dude!”

A slow grin creeps across Dean’s face, and he makes a mental note to surf through Amazon later for some headphones.


End file.
